


The Only Ones Left

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Sometimes, the most unlikely people are the only ones left.Finarfin makes bad choices. Míriel tries to fix what prior decisions have caused.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10





	The Only Ones Left

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo's February 2020 Stamp challenge - my stamp had wild card (I choose near death experience), self-harm, CPR/rescue breathing, and learning to be loved.

Finarfin no longer slept at night, but instead stayed in a constant state of drugged visions. 

He could admit it was not the wisest decision. There had been enough near disasters when he was younger and using other herbs to stop such visions from occurring.

He had wished to keep his family from realizing how deep his skills ran and to keep Fëanor and Fingolfin content that their youngest sibling was no threat. That had worked well enough, he supposed, even if it had not been enough to avert disaster. Finarfin knew all of this, knew his mind needed a chance to relax and to follow what paths it willed. 

He also knew his family was gone - most across the sea or ice, some to the mountains, and Eärwen to Alqualondë until she decided if she could bear to see him again. He had not told her he had seen visions in which she never did, but he had decided he must. 

Tomorrow he would tell her, he thought as he continued to try to see his siblings. 

Findis was the first. He knew he did not need to check on her, when she dwelt so near to the Valar, but still he did. He smiled faintly at the sight of her dining with their uncle, before he turned his attention to the Ice once more. 

Fingolfin was still alive, cradling his granddaughter in his arms as Argon supported Turgon. Finarfin feared for what had happened to Elenwë, whose fate was still unknown to him days after she had first escaped his sight. Lalwen was further back in the line, shepherding those who were close to giving up. Finarfin followed in her footsteps for a moment, until his own children came near, Finrod's hair coated in snow, Aegnor and Angrod dragging a sled with goods, Orodreth and Galadriel looking far too closely at where Finarfin stood in the vision. 

He departed. He could not give them hope, when the Valar still refused every plea. 

He appeared in a tent next. Fëanor must be working on - 

He heard a choked plea and turned. Fëanor was on the bed surrounded by his sons, burns all over his body. 

And then Fëanor burst into flames. Finarfin heard his nephews' shouts, even as he rushed from the tent in the vision. 

He tried to follow Fëanor into halls of stone and death. This was where he had not come before, unable to see his father no matter how he tried to gain access. 

He caught one glimpse of his father, who appeared horrified to see Finarfin. Finwë breathed out his youngest son's name even as he cradled his eldest son's still burning soul. Finarfin stepped closer, before he felt something tugging his mind away. 

He tried to resist. The herbs should not have run their course yet. He should have been free to continue watching over his family as best as he could, but he could hear someone breathing harshly and his eyes snapped open. 

Silver hair fell like a curtain around his face. For a moment he thought it was Eärwen, but of course it was not. 

Míriel's hands rested on his chest. He felt detached, barely noticing the pain there. 

She sat back when she noticed his open eyes. "Arafinwë?"

It was too much - his father, his wife, his loneliness, this elf that was his father's wife but not his mother, his mother having left too. Finarfin barely managed to turn over before he vomited the remains of the herbs over the side of the bed.

"Arafinwë!" Míriel looked worried. He couldn't even bring himself to muster the energy to wonder why she was in his bedroom.

"I saw Atar, in the Halls" he said, dreading the next few words and her reaction. "And Fëanáro with him."

She took one quick breath. He notices tears in her eyes, but she did not cry even as she did not question his knowledge. "He is dead than, and you almost dead with them."

"Yes - no. It was a vision, I wasn't dead."

Her face was stark white in the darkness. "Námo's Halls are only visible to the dead or nearly so, even in visions. Did no one tell you of this?"

Oh. That explained why he had not been able to see his father before. "I was not trained in the art."

He saw her bite down sharply on her lip, the same way she had the last time she visited the city and someone had spoken of Finwë.

He had meant to ask her why, but she had left to return to Vairë, and he had run out of time. He opened his mouth to ask now, but fell asleep before he could. 

Míriel was in an armchair beside the bed the next time he awoke. The curtains were drawn closed, the room lit only by a candle. 

He once more opened his mouth to speak, this time to ask what time it was and how late he was for council. He broke into a cough instead.

"Drink." Míriel lifted a glass of water to his lips.

He took a sip gratefully, the cool water soothing pain he had not realized until that moment. 

"What time is it?" Finarfin asked when the glass was empty.

"The next evening. I took the liberty of canceling your meetings for the week - Rumil will take those he can, I will convince those who refuse that their matters can wait."

Finarfin fell back against the pillows. An entire day wasted, and doubtless he would not be able to attempt his visions again while Míriel was here. Thinking of that, he suddenly realized - "You were going to depart for Vairë's home this afternoon."

"I sent word that I would not be returning," she said, meeting his eyes.

It was lucky she had not given him the glass to hold, for he would have dropped it. "You said the last time you would not live in my father's home without him."

"I was mistaken." Míriel did not smile, though she did not cry, either. "This is not Finwë's home, not while he dwells in the Halls. It is your home, Arafinwë, and if yesterday's events made one thing clear, it is that we should not all depart and leave you to bear the weight of such by yourself."

"You need not hold yourself responsible for my well-being," Finarfin said. "If you wish to dwell with Vairë, there is no reason for both of us to suffer here."

He knew as soon as he finished speaking that he had made a mistake. There was no chance she would overlook that last word and he could not convince her now that all was well. 

"There is no reason for you to suffer alone. There is no need for you to feel as though you must not only care for the Noldor who still dwell in Valinor, but also all of those who are gone and you can no longer help." Míriel picked up his hand and held it. "I know the cost of despair, Arafinwë. I mourned the family I left behind when I came to Valinor and refused to leave the Halls in the hope I would be reunited with them."

"I do not mean to enter the Halls," Finarfin said. It was almost the complete truth. 

"Neither did I, at first." Míriel filled the glass again and handed it to him. "Fëanáro is with your father now, and they will comfort each other. Nolofinwë has Lalwendë, and your mother Findis. I shall stay here."

"You do not need to remain here," he said. 

"I wish to. You have harmed yourself, Arafinwë, and while I can believe that you did not know the truth of seeing the Halls, I cannot believe that you did not know you were doing harm to yourself." Her hands soothed the covers around him. 

He tried to remember the last time anyone had done such. Eärwen. His mother long ago, perhaps, before things had become so bad between Fingolfin and Fëanor and their family had disintegrated before them. 

"Still, you need not. I can take care of myself." Not the most convincing argument, but the only one he had left. 

"I know that I do not have to, but I wish to. Please, Arafinwë, I know this relationship between us is new and you already have a mother, but I would beg you allow me to stay for the love I hold not only for your father, but for all of his children." She moved her hand to brush his hair away from his face. 

He considered protesting more, but the pain in his chest quieted him, as did the wish for comfort he hesitated to admit even to himself. "Very well."

"Rest more," she said. "We will speak more in the morning."

He nodded, and let himself slip into real sleep for the first time in months as she picked up her embroidery once more.


End file.
